The Mind Odyssey
by Lord Codswallop
Summary: An insight into their parallel points of view as their relationship progresses. While S. describes it as one 'of the mind', the one in A's mind is straying far from the prohibitive stipulations in the infamous Agreement, and it is becoming increasingly harder for the vixen to ignore her baser urges. But what about S.? Rated M for mature content in future chapters.
1. The Lab Coat Incident

**_Author's Note: _**_Truth be told, this was going to be a nice exercise in plotless smut. But I felt like I couldn't do this to the quirkiest and sweetest (not to mention my favourite) TV OTP, since they deserve a long and torturous development, and since I find the fact that they are slower than slugs on pot utterly__** adorable**__. Not to mention that awkward is the word when it comes to potential hanky-panky between these two.  
This is my first publication. I did try to proof-read it, but my attention span betrayed me half-way through. Do have mercy on my soul, but constructive criticism is more than welcome!_

* * *

**_I._**

_"You know ours is a relationship of the mind."_

The words echoed through her brilliant mind as if it were an empty dome; though seemingly vacant, it was as if that mere resonance had filled it without escape, and there was no space for thoughts that did not include that smooth droning, the clearly articulated words spoken with the slightest hint of a southern accent. It was rare an occurrence for the logic-minded Amy Farrah Fowler, to give into the sweet derailment of distraction, and she felt extremely unsettled by that; but what unnerved her even more was the frequency with which such a state of mind visited her lately, making it impossible for her to continue her work.

As she heaved an audible sigh she set down her scalpel with a clink, distracted by the thoughts that were chasing each other and had nothing to do with neurobiology or the chimpanzee brain she had just been carefully dissecting up until she'd sliced right through it, irreparably ruining a perfectly good specimen and an entire day's work.

"I guess that's it." she exclaimed out loud, fleetingly considering whether she should stop talking to herself, something her bestie, Penny, had thoughtfully brought up a few days before on one of their notorious girly nights, which she'd spent consuming copious amounts of alcohol and pouring her heart out concerning her so-called 'relationship of the mind' with Sheldon and the not-so-platonic fantasies she often found herself entertaining – which were, at least, all in her mind.  
_Such a tempting angel, she is; with hair spun from gold and a smile that could rival a string of pearls_-_stop it, Amy Farrah Fowler,_ she commanded sternly to the little voice in her head. She was going off on a tangent, something that Bernadette had tactfully described as 'socially undesirable', and she could feel herself doing it – which meant that she was at least improving on the attention span front, just like the self-help book had described. _Awareness is key, Amy Farrah Fowler. Try harder and you'll see, they will like you more._

So she took a small pause to think upon it, coming to the logical conclusion that she needed to start liking her voice more in order to gain the confidence necessary to stun and sway Sheldon with her irresistible femininity, and that it was therefore a perfectly reasonable thing to do even though Penny seemed to imply that it was the death penalty of social acceptance. Sheldon didn't seem to mind it all that much, at least.  
She dismissed it with a shrug and proceeded to slip her lab coat off, getting ready to leave her laboratory and take her weary limbs home, then maybe engage in a pleasant Skype conversation with her sort-of-a-boyfriend; those new orthopaedic shoes were proving to be a blister factory, and she really wasn't looking forward to an evening of unnecessarily painful fluid draining, so the distraction was more than welcome.

_Something's not right_, she thought. She felt slightly chilled. Exposed**,** even. It took her a few moments of confusion, but eventually her gaze dropped to the dip of her cleavage.

And exposed she was.

Her eyes widened to the size of saucers, and her jaw dropped to hang slack as no sound came out, shocked into baffled silence.

_Outrageous._

She was _completely_ naked underneath her lab coat. And the worst thing was, she had no idea as to how that could have possibly happened without her realising it. Had she finally gone insane? Had she inadvertently ingested one of those test pills to cure insomnia, the ones with disturbing side effects? Had she been so hungover as to forget a grand total of four layers of clothing? Were carnal thoughts about Sheldon helplessly addling her brainpower?

_Curious._

_It's perfectly fine, Amy Farrah Fowler, _she told herself. Repeatedly. _As long as you keep the lab coat on, no one will notice. _It was after-hours, fortunately, so the only possible encounter she could make was with the janitor, a rather amicable fellow who liked to spend a lot of time emptying the bins in Amy's laboratory in complete and slightly unsettling silence before muttering something about her 'badonka-donk'.

She quickly buttoned it up and smoothed out the front, taking a deep breath before slinging the strap of her bag over her shoulder. It was a good thing she'd specifically requested for it to be a couple of extra sizes in order to accommodate possible weight fluctuations, something she was prone to whenever the winter season approached, or one of her favourite tv series ended.  
_Let no one be heard saying that Amy Farrah Fowler is unprepared.  
_  
With determination in her stride she swung the door open and ran straight into a tall, lanky figure that sent her reeling backwards with a yelp, unable to distinguish much other than a blurry haze of red and yellow through the glasses that hung askew from her nose.

"Amy Farrah Fowler!" a voice laced with mild surprise and indignation erupted from the beneath the threshold, revealing the identity of the unexpected visitor. "What did I tell you about rushing headfirst into hallways without paying mind to your surroundings?

"That you could collide with some germ ridden biologist, or worse—"  
_"That I could collide with some germ ridden biologist, or worse_—"  
They ended the sentence abruptly together as Amy finally repositioned her glasses in an optimal position, and her lips twitched into a brief semblance of a sheepish smile before they pursed nervously.

"Hello, Sheld_ooh_—"she cleared her throat, frowning gravely at the involuntarily high-pitched sound that just fled her lips. "Ahem. _Sheldon_." she punctuated the name with a lower timbre, sounding more like herself, earning a questioning eyebrow raise from the infallibly observant scientist.  
"S-so … what's up?" she inquired tentatively, immediately cursing herself for lingering a little more than necessary on that 'so' and thoughtlessly resorting to what Sheldon called 'entirely unnecessary and mindless distortions of the English language', also known as _slang_. Penny was really rubbing off on her.  
The eyebrow did not fall back into a reassuringly neutral arch.  
Amy shifted on the balls of her feet, wringing her hands nervously as she waited for Sheldon to say something – quite possibly reprimand her for this or the other, she rarely paid attention these days, lost in contemplation of _that sensually pale complexion and those big blue eyes that draw you in and oh_—

"Amy."

"Yes, Sheldon?"

"You're distracted."

She made a small, mousy noise, possibly apologetic, rolling her hunched shoulders in a shrug in pretence of nonchalance. She really needed to get out of there and his sights quickly, because she could feel herself grow increasingly uncomfortable in Sheldon's vicinity when there was but a thin layer of cotton between her bare naked body and his tall, spindly limbs. And really, Sheldon had been far too gracious in describing her alarming symptoms with an euphemism such as 'distracted'.

_Don't tell him you're naked. Don't tell him you're naked_. _Oh God, what if he knows? What if he's onto me? What will he say? Will he think of me as a floozy?_ "I just had a long day, and my shoes are hurting- "great_ job, Amy Farrah Fowler. Steer his attention toward your magnificently naked body, will you? _She inwardly chided herself harshly, causing her to shake her head frantically before she bit her lip, frowning at a very perplexed Sheldon.

"Why are you having trouble finishing sentences, and twitching like that?" a sudden realisation seemed to dawn on him as he asked the question, lips parting to let free a gasp. "_Oh, Lord_! Are you having a _seizure_? We must call 911 at once!"

"What— no no _no! _That will not be necessary. I'm fine, I'm just a little overworked." she shook her head firmly, cutting across the air with a sweeping, definite gesture of her arm.

"_Overworked_?" he seemed incredulous at the very notion of it, but Amy quickly interjected;  
"Had very little sleep last night." Perfectly plausible explanation, and not too far from the truth.

Gerard had a busy night. And possibly another one ahead.

"I-in fact, I was just about to go back home, have an early night." she quickly added before he could question her as to the reason why she hadn't gotten much rest, unable to be rid of that traitorous stammer. Sheldon didn't seem particularly fazed, but he did raise that eyebrow again; it was as if it was taunting her with its questioning arch, doubting each and every word that spilt from her quivering lips.

"Oh." he seemed mildly disappointed, sporting the expression typical of a child who has been denied ice-cream. "That's a shame. You see, since it's anything-can-happen-Thursday, I thought I'd drop by without the customary announcement of my coming." a boyish, lopsided smirk then tugged at the corners of his lips, giving him an irresistibly impish look. "I thought this small exception to the Relationship Agreement would titillate the rebel in you."

And titillate her it did.  
A strangled noise tried to erupt from her throat, barely stifled by her biting her lip savagely.  
That arch raised ever higher over the line of his forehead.  
"O-oh! Of course. Yes, it is very … _titillating_." no doubt about it. _Damnit, Amy Farrah Fowler. You are a woman with needs, don't forget nor belittle that.  
_"I propose you escort me home, where we can dine together and enjoy a movie night." she finally gathered enough wits to string a coherent sentence together, pleased with how casual she sounded despite her growing discomfort.

"Delightful." was Sheldon's immediate answer, followed by a form nod of the head, seemingly relieved at the fairly tranquil deviation from his schedule; he'd probably been dreading some preposterous proposition that involved entering those breeding grounds of germs where people gathered to exchange bodily fluids and flail like monkeys on crack to the deafening strains of that cacophony they dared to call music – quite frankly entirely distasteful, but Amy had become more accepting of and eager for such social gatherings due to Penny's overly plebeian influence. "Shall we, then?" he urged, inclining his head in the general direction of the open door, and Amy was more than happy to oblige, immediately scurrying past him as he held it open for her.

"Wait. Are you not going to take off that receptacle of germs?"

Amy stopped dead in her tracks.  
_Damnit._

A relentless high-pitched beeping pulsed in her sluggish ears until she was brutally thrown into consciousness.  
Amy's palm landed flat onto the snooze button of the alarm-clock with frightening precision and a sleep-laced groan.

These dreams were getting worse.  
The thrilling fear of being caught naked beneath her lab coat had in fact quite the inconveniently_ titillating_ effect between her thighs.

_End of Chapter I._


	2. The Kolinahr Failure

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but my terrible fiction. I profit from none of this (come on, let's be realistic) and I mean no offence through opinions expressed in the characters' point of view.

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much for the positive feedback (and some good old Freudian dream interpretation! ;) ), I'm glad you enjoyed that first chapter. So here's the second one – this time from Sheldon's POV, and a lot saucier! Here's to hoping you will enjoy my word vomit.

**Warnings: **Awkward masturbation, ahoy! Sorry for the spoiler. Also some explicit hints of Leonard/Penny. What's that called? Peonard? Lenny?

* * *

**II.**

At first glance Dr. Sheldon Cooper appeared to be a reasonably ordinary man – looking considerably younger than his age, clean shaven, tidy, sporting a vintage Lego man hairstyle, with a fondness for superhero t-shirts, long sleeves and checkered trousers.

And then he would speak just a few words, and cause an interestingly heterogeneous mixture of reactions in unsuspecting interlocutors and those who happened to be at earshot.  
Heads would often turn, and those who already knew him also knew well to steer clear of him; something which most would do unless they happened to be in the cafeteria staff, contractually yet begrudgingly bound to serve him his infuriatingly elaborate lunch.  
If statistics were to be drawn up detailing the most popular sentiments to come to the mind of those who found themselves in the presence of Dr. Cooper , the general feeling would be something along the lines of 'what an insufferable oddball', closely followed by 'what a giant, pompous douche'.

But it wasn't entirely correct, and that was a fact only a few were privy to, a few who were both cursed and blessed by the almost impossible-to-attain honour of being in Dr. Cooper's close circle of 'friends'. Armed with an infinite supply of patience, they would often claim that he didn't know better, that he did not behave so rudely on purpose, that his air of dismissive superiority was something he could not help – that he was loveably weird.

And then there was Amy Farrah Fowler.  
Quite possibly the only person who, in Sheldon's magnificently brilliant mind, could hope to match the _homo novus_' intellectual prowess.

When he first initiated their friendship, Sheldon had hoped to establish a relationship based solely on their shared interests on an intellectual level; it had worked beautifully at first, communicating on a daily basis with face-to-face meetings no more than once a week, sharing opinions on the world around them like curious but detached observers of a decadent spectacle.  
They were raised above the crowd, the two of them, and she'd easily gained a comfortable slot in his scarce collection of friends.

Then things had started to _change_, and Sheldon was not a fan of change of any kind, being a creature of precise schedules and impeccable routine. He believed that owing to Penny's noxious influence Amy had started to morph into someone different, into a coquettish vixen with a fixation for the mundane and social conventions, and was slowly retreating to that tedious box wherein the rest of the world bustled about like a busy ant-hill, limited by their own narrow perception; what Sheldon failed to acknowledge, however, was that it was neither Amy nor himself who were undergoing a metamorphosis, but the nature of their progressing relationship.  
He'd hoped for it to be stagnant and immovable; certainty gave him comfort, and the thrill of the unexpected was not so much a thrill as a frankly terrifying dive into the abyss of the unknown.

He had not been without faults of his own. He'd _let_ it happen. All of it. He'd initiated their friendship, and he'd initiated their relationship by officially requesting she become his girlfriend.  
He had been afraid to lose her, and had proven willingness to make exceptions in order to accommodate her presence in his life.  
He kept telling himself that it would have been a true shame to let all that effort into getting to know each other go to waste, after all, especially since the haughty scientist had more than just a little trouble with establishing bonds of trust.

And now that things had changed, he had been unwilling to go back and terminate everything.  
Moreover, the thought of Amy having what they had with some other man did things to his bile he did not want to linger on particularly.

"You're distracted."

Amy's delayed voice droned from the speakers of Sheldon's laptop.

"Mh." he gave her a look, at a loss for words that could explain his behaviour.

"I guess my research on the effects of opiates addiction on primates is beneath you." she sounded snappish and irritable. Always a troublesome combination in a woman.

"Well, _yes_—" he began, but instantly earnt a scathing glare from the neurobiologist who was taking up his entire screen and was, quite frankly, a little grotesque. "But that does not make it less impressive." he quickly added, not sounding entirely convincing; but he guessed that was enough for Amy, who conceded a shrug after a thoughtful pause.

"It's getting late. I'm going to bed." she announced, showing she'd had enough of Sheldon's apparent indifference; the brilliant scientist, however, preferred to think of it otherwise, and conceded that she must have indeed been very tired.

"Well, alright." he inclined his head at the screen, flashing her a somewhat condescending smile. "You go get an adequate and satisfactory amount of rest, Amy Farrah Fowler."

"Yes. Goodnight, Sheldon." she was quick to close the lid of her laptop. A little too quick.  
Sheldon frowned at the screen for a few moments, wondering if he'd said or done something wrong. Moments later he dismissed it with a roll of his shoulders and shook his head resignedly, exclaiming an exasperated "Ah, _women_!" to no one in particular – Leonard was in fact staying at Penny's apartment for the night (_thankfully_, he thought, since the noise cancelling headphones did very little to shield his precious ears from the unattractive howling and screeching they produced).

11:00 PM. He was lying in bed, perfectly supine and symmetrically aligned with the centre of the mattress. He'd gone through his nightly routine consisting of no less than 39 steps required to prepare for a good night's sleep and was very much ready to mentally recite the periodic table to soothe himself to sleep when _it_ happened.

A loud thump against the front door. Sheldon held his breath, eyes wide and unblinking beneath his sleeping mask. He dared not move a muscle, suddenly terrified he was about to become yet another statistic in Pasadena's crime ratings. Owing to his 'Vulcan' hearing, however, he soon picked up on the clumsy but reassuring fumbling of keys being handled by hands guided by an alcohol-addled brain; after an excruciating barrage of giggling, growling, and drunken nonsense the merry couple finally managed to stumble inside the apartment before slamming the door carelessly, wholly inconsiderate of whomever might be trying to get some sleep.  
_Hint: a future Nobel-prize winner._

In less than two minutes Leonard and Penny had breached at least fifteen clauses in the Amended Roommate Agreement, modified to include a Penny specific section, but he was too tired to confront them and suspected they wouldn't be paying him much heed at all in the hazy blur of their drunkenness.  
Then, after what Sheldon defined as a small eternity, the booze infested duo finally dragged their sluggish backsides over to Leonard's bedroom to continue their germ-ridden, drunken revelries therein, forcing the physicist to blindly reach for his noise cancelling headphones on the bedside table with an irritable huff.

He was about to slip them on when an audible female moan rose above the fumbling of bed sheets and the creaking of bedsprings. _Here we go again_, he thought. _A full fifteen minutes of coital shenanigans and unleashing of animalistic urges to be expected_.

His fingers, however, refused to move and comply. They deliberately ignored his brain's stern command. A grave frown crawled across his brow, and he insistently urged his central nervous system to resume working properly , but a string of disturbingly wanton mewls then insinuated themselves in his unsuspecting ears amidst ragged panting; _Oh Lord_, he thought, _I don't think I ever got this far into it, and it is already driving me insane._

He began to experience those disturbing symptoms he dreaded and knew all too well, but had always fought hard to conceal and repress those base urges through the wise teachings of the _Kolinahr_ ritual. Beads of sweat began to form in a circle across his forehead, the palms of his hands began to exude suspiciously and he felt an overpowering heat spread at an alarming rate in his lower regions and limbs, inflaming his nerve endings with a tingling warmth. _No no no no_, he thought, _don't you __**dare**__ rush downwards. Stay with me, right here, in the __**brain**__._

_…._

_Oh, __**drat**__!  
Foolish blood flow._

_"_Oh-oh_ fuck, _Leonard_-!" _ Penny's high pitched cry pierced through the wall and his sensitive ears, almost as fastidious as her coarse speech.

_How shamelessly __**vulgar**__, _he thought. _Is that sort of filthy language necessary when engaging in coitus_? _If only she could hear herself when she's sobered up, she would be ashamed of herself. In fact, I probably ought to record this and-_

"Mmnh, Oh-oh—_Sheldon_."

_What._

_Amy Farrah Fowler?_

_Get out of my head. You get yourself and your dangerously seductive ways out of my head __**now **__and go engage in some higher pursuit__**. **_

He really, _really_ didn't want it to get to where he was forced to get out of bed and take the third shower of the day. It would be breaking his daily ablutions schedule and that was a no-no.

But darnit, he just couldn't stop thinking about her and her beautiful ches—_mind_. Her beautiful _mind_. But there was a woman beneath that lab coat. A real woman. A curvaceous, gorgeous seductress. And she was _his_ girlfriend. Sheldon tried to forget that fact with all of his might, which admittedly wasn't all that mighty, but right now his ears were ringing with the rush of boiling blood and filled with the racket of next-door coitus, his cheeks were burning and his nether regions were throbbing relentlessly, shamelessly begging for his attention. There was no denying, coital urges struck down even the strongest when the right temptation was offered in the luscious shape of Amy Farrah Fowler.

'Little' Sheldon was winning this one. And it hadn't happened since that damnable occasion back in 1995, 3rd of January, a cold winter's night, wherein it had gotten so out of hand that he had been forced to resort to the only available solution when _Kolinahr _inexplicably failed and a freezing shower was out of the question; namely, taking _it_ into his slightly inexpert hand(s). Scientific curiosity had lent the aid he needed in order to thereafter justify it as an experiment, even though it had been the fifth time that year.

_You can do it, Sheldon. This should be easy._

He inhaled a deep, deep breath. _Oh sweet __**Lord**__, this is ridiculous_. _So damnably juvenile._

_Shut up, Sheldon Lee Cooper. Get to work. It's as easy as a staircase. Up and down, up and down._

Trembling fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his pyjama bottoms, hesitant and clammy. Meanwhile Leonard and Penny were reaching the peak of their brief crescendo, culminating their coital interlude with some disturbing mesh of asthmatic grunting and coyote-like howling.  
The damage, however, had been done. _Thank you very much, you ridiculous insatiable horn-dogs_.

But the blame was better pinned on that vixen who now haunted his thoughts—or rather, Sheldon's strange version of what would normally be classed as sexual fantasies, something which he hadn't conceded himself since he kind-of-sort-of hit puberty in a brief spurt and never spoke of it nor thought about it again. That had been an embarrassing bump on the road to growing up.  
But here he was, many years later and fallen prey to that hideous trap again, like an inexperienced novice on the way of perfectly emotionless excellence, devoid of any physical urges.

Meanwhile his fingers decided they'd had enough of Sheldon's brain blabbering and had mindlessly wrapped around the pulsing girth of his swelling erection, something he could no longer ignore given that it was taking up all the painstakingly measured space of his pyjama bottoms, rendering his sizing chart utterly futile, much to his dismay.

**_Drat._**

But _oh_, did it feel _sinfully_ good. A tantalising shiver borne of pure electricity snaked down the entire length of his spine, sizzling through the ramifications of his nerves, leaving a heated, tingling wake of unbridled sexual pleasure. He was barely able to stifle a suffered groan, inwardly chiding himself for almost letting an involuntary noise slip out.  
**_No._**_ You're already breaking your precious vows of abstinence. You're not allowed to do that whilst sounding like a common gigolo, Sheldon Coope- nngh! Oh-!_

It had been slow and tentative at first, almost sluggish and unconvincing; but now he was picking up speed and a firmer, more regular pace in his clumsy strokes, with fingers curled in a tightening cage around his hard shaft, occasionally squeezing the velvety flesh to elicit more of that forbidden friction. Muscles tensed and quivered as he inadvertently lifted his thighs from the mattress, hips begrudgingly bucking into his hand, snapping upwards in erratic thrusting as instinct gradually took over and compelled him to do what felt good, and do it _fast_ before his mind regained control.

What made it better and worse was the vivid image of Amy Farrah Fowler's invitingly soft figure, her curves barely outlined by her oversized lab coat, her chocolate-brown hair gently draped over her slightly hunched, round shoulders and touching her collarbone, mere inches above her supple bosom. The sheer horrifying shame of defiling the brilliant woman's beautiful mind and their platonic connection somewhat sped up the process, guilt galloping alongside an unstoppable excitement; it was odd how shame and guilt were directly proportional to arousal and a successful ejaculation.

He was panting heavily now; fingers worked faster, frenziedly as he lost his rhythm to jerking motions made frantic by the approaching ascent to his inevitable release, which had been building up for quite some time now and threatened to be quite fierce in nature. A few short, quick strokes later Sheldon's entire body stilled to reach the maximum point of tension before flashes of blinding white streaked his vision, teeth fiercely sank into his lower lip to stifle a strangled moan, and his thick manhood twitched and pulsed beneath his fingertips, shooting his hot seed in abundant spurts against the tenting front of his bottoms.

It took him precisely twenty-three seconds to wind down from the post-coital bliss, regain control of his breathing and feel his seed pool into an uncomfortably cold and sticky mess on his lower abdomen and form an irritating wet patch on the fabrics of his jammies, right over his now perfectly content, perfectly sated and flaccid member. _The damnable rapscallion. _The consequent release of endorphins was short lived, and not as enjoyable as it could have been. A shameful guilt in fact suddenly assailed him, making his gut churn uncomfortably and his chest tighten.  
He couldn't think about her without feeling overwhelmingly nauseated, instantly reminded of how he'd sullied her image with his disgustingly juvenile and hormone-dominated fantasies. How on God's sweet Earth was he going to be able to look at her in the eye after what he'd done to their supposed 'relationship of the mind'? She could not know of this. _Ever_.

_Oh, __**perfect**__ (That was sarcasm). Now I have to take three showers and change into a clean pair of pyjamas._

_End of Chapter II._


End file.
